The Last Battle of Middle-Earth
by Atreides Queen
Summary: Okay, I've written lots more but it's just a bunch of random scenes toward the end, so I won't post it yet....This is an account of the prophesied Last Battle of Middle-earth in which Elves and Men are wholly sundered at last, as told by Mariel.


Disclaimer: I own everything except the references to the ancient history of Middle-earth mentioned in any of Tolkien's books.  
  
Note: Sorry for any inconsistencies-this hasn't yet been thoroughly edited. I have almost finished the next section and hope to have it up soon. Enjoy (and tell me what you think of it(i.e. review))!  
  
The Last Battle  
  
"Patience, Mariel, patience," Rúmil sighed. "The sooner you learn this chapter, the sooner we will move on."  
"Yes, yes, I know. But why do I have to learn about our race's righteousness again? It's all the same, you see: conquer, destroy, kill. I only wish my father would stop."  
"I agree, and surely notice that he is showing a bigger lack of judgement than usual, ... but I am in no position to speak against his Majesty-I am only your tutor. Now perhaps if I were his advisor, then I could hold sway over his decisions. But I am not. So I fear we must live with it." He indicated the book. "Besides, if you learn his politics you may offer him counsel-"  
"That he will not take. My childhood friends are suffering in poverty because my father thinks only of conquering the elves, not gaining the respect of his people. See? I do now something about politics."  
Mariel walked around the room, and gazed at the fine silk curtains in the room, the polished marble floor. "His money is wasted on such needless finery." She stared out the small window.  
Rúmil snapped his fingers in her face. "Wake up, and stop dreaming. Let us start on a chapter today."  
Mariel walked over to the table and opened the book to the contents. "If we start, can it not be on the history of the elves? I would dearly love to learn about them..." she looked innocently at her tutor. "Please?"  
He paused to consider for a moment. Then, with a wry smile, his gaze locked on hers, he sat down and opened the book. One by one, he flipped the crinkled pages until he came to a chapter written in dark, narrow letters. "Yes, we can start by learning about the history of 'The Rebellious and Accursed Elves'"  
"How biased..."  
***  
  
Ar-Atanakhôr gazed around furiously. Where was the girl? He was to lead his family to the city's temple at the high priest's request. Normally he would have turned down the request, having better things to do with his time, but the letter from Maihako sounded more urgent this time. He was not pleased to bring his family along, but the priest had insisted that they would be kept out of the affair.  
"Mariel! Come right now!" he thundered.  
She soon came running out of the palace, frantically pulling her sweater on.  
"I'm here, father," she gasped. "I'm here."  
"Where have you been???" he replied.  
"At my lesson, father."  
"And why did your lesson take so long?"  
She hesitated. Not wanting to tell him how engrossed she had been in the lore of the elves, she quickly made up an excuse.  
"Rúmil was finishing up our lesson about Númenor."  
"And what do you think about Ar-Pharazon's actions?"  
"They- they were only righteous. In their folly, the lords of the west denied him his birthright."  
"Lords of the west?" He spat the name out.  
Her heart sank with fear as she noticed her faux pas. "I-I mean the loathsome ones, father." She cringed, wondering if he would forgive her. Yet she considered herself lucky, as, disgusted, he slapped her and shoved her into their carriage.  
As the horses gloomily pulled it across the uneven stone streets, Mariel looked out at all the sunken faces staring out at them from the crowd. Sad, poverty-stricken shadows watching, hoping for a better life. To them, their king was like a tyrant, yet an idol, to be venerated but feared. The people no longer helped each other for the common good, but instead tried to take advantage of others and maybe rise up to a high rank in the military, to earn a better living for themselves. As the long, hard years had passed, they had become a cold, austere, and rather unfriendly population. Yet Mariel had heard rumors, rumors of scattered resistance groups that sided with the elves, and were looking to overthrow the king. Like the faithful Númenóreans, she thought. Those few that had retained their wisdom and majesty deep within themselves. Someday, she would have to seek them out, at her own risk, but it would surely be worth it, to talk with like-minded people.  
As Mariel scanned the figures, she saw somebody that looked familiar to her-her childhood friend, Lërinzel. She was the only friend Mariel had ever had, the daughter of the king's previous advisor. In those days, her father had ruled wisely, having the advice of a sagacious, timid man who knew how to manage a realm and keep its power. But the high priest, Maihako, had slowly poisoned the king's heart and led him into folly; and now all the kingdom had been corrupted.   
Soon, the large, golden temple came into view. It would have been a beautiful building, an a great smoke had not hung over it, and ash fallen down, blackening the stone steps that led out to it. The royal carriage came to a halt after a rickety ride through the city streets, and she stepped out onto the ash-covered stones. It seemed like a great reek filled the air, and marred the natural beauty of the place. Mariel stepped aside, to allow her parents and brother to exit; her brother jumped out and landed with a heavy thud, characteristic of his personality. He was so slow and stupid that she wondered if she might not have been adopted-how could the blood of Númenor run nearly true in so dull a family. Her father was a shrewd man maybe, but not subtle, nor did he know how to execute his actions with ingenuity or finesse. Her mother was not much different, but full of an unearned hauteur.  
She followed her escort up the cold stone steps and through the brazen doors, behind which a crowd awaited them. Polite cheers greeted them as they walked into the door and up to the special section reserved for the royal family. Now she wondered why her father had decided to attend this sacrifice; this was usually an event only for the masses, used for entertainment, and besides, her family hadn't attended a sacrifice in years. Was it for publicity? Or for some underlying purpose. She thought about it for a second, until the high priest himself entered the box. He spoke in an undertone to Ar-Atanakhôr, softly, so she could not hear. Then the king bid the guards leave.  
"You, and you, leave."  
"Where, m'lord?" answered one.  
The king sighed in exasperation. "Somewhere, I don' t care."  
And then, to her surprise, her father left with Maihako. As he exited, the lights dimmed. But where was her father going? She glanced over at her mother, the tall rigid figure staring straight ahead, with Gorandir beside her, totally engrossed in the chanting figures before the bloodied walls. Sickening, she thought as she slipped silently into the narrow passages of the inner workings of the temple, and followed the king and the priest.  
***  
  
Ar-Atanakhôr swept through the halls beside Maihako with his robes billowing out behind him. What could the priest want with him? No doubt it must be about the new, secret project being planned. Yet he, the king knew nothing about it!  
"May I ask, why must we walk so far?" the king asked.  
"Because, my lord, this is of the utmost secrecy," the priest replied, barely containing his excitement. "This is what will give us a swift and complete victory, than no elf-sorcery may deter!" He walked over to an opaque glass case in the middle of the room, painted in blood with old runes of magic. "Prepare thyself for the greatest weapon of our time: behold, my lord, the Kôrulukion!"  
With a great sweep of his hand he pulled the cover off and on a black cloth lay a great stone. Polished it was, almost like to the palantírs of old, save that it could not see things far off in time or space, but had an entirely different purpose. Inside it, Ar-Atanakhôr could see a great shining mass of silver, brown, and black swirling inside. Yet be that as it may, the stone kept giving the illusion that it was red at times, with an eerie aura around it, as that of a thunderstorm.   
Before the king noticed it, a dark light had filled the room, and a spiraling wind blew up before their faces; he could see his high priest raising his hands, interweaving them until a single picture formed in the middle if the room. Men, made out of the vapors floating about in the air, were marching to war, cleaving everything in their path with superhuman strength, uprooting small trees, demolishing frail wooden huts with their bare hands.  
"Thou seest, my lord? This is what thy army could be, a force of giants crushing everything in their path, if we only call upon the power of this stone!" Maihako shouted above the din. And as he let his hands fall down, everything ceased and a complete silence filled the room.  
"I call it Kôr, for short," explained Maihako, seeing the amazement on the king's face. His mouth formed into an evil smile.  
"How- how-" the king stammered, at a loss for words. Then, seeing the true value of this new object, smiled evilly. "How eeexcellent..." 


End file.
